Your skin is the canvas
My fingertips are the paintbrush
Every touch, every stroke, every glide upon it creates a mark
For what I am becomes what you are
And what you are becomes the purpose of me

You somehow
seamlessly exceed
my expectations
time
and time
again

I am
imprisoned
in consciousness,
searching
for an
escape

This love of ours
is like
a see-saw:
the only difference is
that normally
I'm stuck at
the top.

I'll make you a
noose of
kisses
around your neck